Broken

A mirror sits on the floor

against the wall, empty.

It reflects the room.

The kindness it once reflected

is gone. She is gone.

A turtle of all things

is on the back porch outside

the French Doors, without a child.

The house is empty. The three floors

echo only silence. And yet here is a lawn mower

just entering the garage. Here is the voice of their son

and his father. Here is a leaf falling from the tree.

Here is a window. Here is the emptiness again of

tomorrow.